


Kiss and Tell

by Greenninjagal



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: All the boys are idiots, Everyone is worried about cheating, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Love Triangle? Whats that, M/M, Multi, Party Games, Polysanders - Freeform, Spin the Bottle, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Witness Protection, isn't it great, taste aversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal
Summary: Logan knew what response he was supposed to give when his boyfriend's ex asked permission to kiss his boyfriend during a party game of spin the bottle.He also knew that that response wasn't supposed to be "Yes please".***aka its all fun and games until you realized that you've fallen in love with two guys at once (and you didn't even know that was possible).
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 67
Kudos: 478





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A short quick story because there are not enough fics about Polyships

Logan Ackroyd can pinpoint the exact moment that all his troubles began: at a quarter till ten o'clock on the night of December 27th, while he is standing at the bar counter of Remy Dormire's kitchen, staring into the living room.

He knows this logically, irrefutably, because there's a picture of said problems circulating around the school’s social media and Logan cannot go more than five minutes without seeing it. He knows this logically, irrefutably, because he had seen the flash of Roman Prince's camera as he took said picture to post on his Snap story from the corner of his eye. He knows this logically, irrefutably, because he every time he closes his eyes he sees that moment suspended in time, preserved in his memories like the entire entire party had been dipped in Amber and fossilized for him. 

It's ridiculous.

Embarrassing, even.

Logan hasn't been able to do any actual work for weeks now and it's all Virgil Storm's fault. 

Virgil Storm who had glared and hissed when people got into his personal space. Virgil Storm who hadn't worn anything other than that damn hoodie until he appeared in that party. Virgil Storm who had showed up like his namesake at the beginning of their senior year of high school a completely different person than from when he had moved away in sixth grade.

Virgil Storm who had looked Logan in the eye, biting his lip, hair teased from running fingers through it, glowing in the party lights, and asked that _question_ in that husky tone. 

Logan was supposed to be the logical one of the group. 

But he knows-- _oh god_ \-- he knows that in that moment he just…. _stopped_. He had been doomed before the first spin of that bottle. He had been doomed before Virgil had ever sat down in that circle of with that disastrous smirk and told Roman to get ready to lose. He had been doomed before Patton had ever finished explaining the rules.

He had been doomed from the moment that Virgil had shown up on the doorstep, twisting in his ripped purple T- shirt and shuffling in his black combat boots as if he wasn’t sure he was even allowed to be there at all, despite the way that Remus had swung himself over his shoulder and handed him a drink. 

Logan hadn’t wanted to play really. Public Displays of Affection weren’t really his thing. But Dee had squeezed his hand and asked him so nicely...and well Logan hasn’t really been able to say no to a little bit of fun with his boyfriend since they were in tenth grade.

Dee had dragged him into the circle, weaseling between Emile and Patton and settling Logan practically in his lap.

“Are you sure the lovebirds should be playing this one?” Remus had asked, “Its a kissing one!”

And perhaps Logan should have realized right then that he had a problem, because no one normal would want their significant other kissing someone else, right?

Logan had lost the game pretty early on, because Dee new just how to kiss Logan to drive him mad: all feather light and hesitant and submissive and _begging_ for Logan to take control. Their lips were only touching for a second and then Logan’s hands were tearing into Dee’s leather jacket and yanking him closer while Roman, Remus, and Remy all whistle at them.

(The rules, of course, being some variation that Remus had spearheaded and Roman had… _manipulated_ so that anyone else would want to play: One person spins the bottle and they have to kiss whoever it lands on and then whoever reaches to touch the other first, loses. Everything else about the game had changed depending on the whims of the players, the amount of drinks everyone’s had, and the music playing off of Remy’s phone.)

And Logan knows that Virgil and Dee have a _history._ The type of history that includes a treehouse, grape popsicles, and kissing in the back of a movie theater. It was the type of history that anyone else would have been nervous to hear about, suspicious of hearing about, paranoid from hearing about.

And Logan should have been worried: because he knew all of Dee’s tells, and he knew that when Dee had said “Its a long time over, Lo.” and “We were just kids, Lo.” and “I didn’t even remember him until he showed back up, Lo!” he hadn’t been telling the complete truth. Dee does a thing with his lips, a quirk, a slip of the lips when he lies that Logan is sure he’s the only one that knows about. Logan thinks about it a lot when its just the two of them on one of their beds and their textbooks all around them. And he thinks about kissing it right off Dee’s face and telling him to shut up almost every time he’s in his pyschology class.

But as it stood Patton had gotten Remus out of the game (laughing all the way), Emile had declared Roman the best kisser while frantically fanning his face, and Remy had kissed everyone at least once, tasting like coffee creamer for each of them. Then, Roman had blinked his eyes innocently at Virgil when the bottle had landed on him and Virgil had smiled oh-so-softly.

(Heart meltingly softly, cloud nine softly, blanket fort pillows softly.)

Virgil Storm, Logan had realized, was anything but than soft. It had taken all of three seconds: one to draw Roman in like a pig to slaughter, one for his teeth to peek between those pale lips of his, and one for Virgil to shift back on his haunches. Roman followed him down, and had his fingers in Virgil’s hair, Logan suspected, before Roman himself even knew what he was doing. 

By the time that reality had caught up with him, Roman was in Virgil’s lap, blinking in that cute dumb fashion of his which only came from being absolutely shocked and confused. Logan had doubted the poor kid could have told them his own name if they had asked him.

Virgil had merely licked his lips, dangerous and deadly and delicately, “Better Luck next time, Princey.”

The following round Logan had spun the bottle and landed on Dee, and he had thought he was going to win. He hadn’t, doesn’t, didn’t. Because while Logan is a scientist, Dee is a magician and his favorite trick is turning Logan into raging fire.

“I win,” Dee had said so very smugly, flicking that tongue between his lips just enough for Logan to yank him forward again.

Logan had scooted back after that, because Remus had started whining about lovebirds getting a room and Remy had asked if they had brought condoms for everyone and, really, Logan himself needed something to drink. Dee leveled him with an innocent look, and Logan couldn’t help but wish he could get rid of that sort of smile.

He had left to grab a water bottle from the cooler on the bar counter and when he turned back around Dee had spun the bottle and the party had gone quiet.

“Uh…” Roman had said. “Maybe spin again?”

“Yeah I--” Dee had swallowed hard staring at the bottle, at who was at the end of the bottle, and then at Logan with that sort of emotion in his eyes Logan reads between terrified and excited.

“That would be--” Virgil clears his throat, “I mean…”

No one moves. 

Least of all Logan who is standing with the bottle of water in his hand and not breathing at all.

“Hey Ackroyd,” Virgil says nonchalantly, “Mind if I kiss that stupid expression off your boyfriend’s face?”

Logan knew what response he was supposed to give when his boyfriend's ex asked permission to kiss his boyfriend during a party game of spin the bottle.

He also knew that that response wasn't supposed to be "Yes please". 

But at 9:47 on the eve of the 27th of December, Logan watched Virgil and Dee make out on Remy Dormire’s living room floor.

And he liked it a lot more than he should.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s over Virgil Storm as much as one person can be over him.
> 
> Which--Dee realizes too late, too quickly, not soon enough-- means that he’s not over Virgil Storm at all.  
> ***  
> aka Dee handles kissing his ex 
> 
> (badly).

Dee Ekans is not a liar.

Not really.

Because he really _had_ been over Virgil for a long time, years and years long time. They had been kids after all. Stupid, dumb kids who thought they hated their parents and resonated with the way that bases sounded pounding from their shared headphones while lying on their backs in a treehouse while sunlight teased their hair.

Stupid, dumb kids.

Who spent far too much time in a treehouse alone doing nothing but listening to each other breathe. Who shared so many grape popsicles that he won’t even drink grape gatorade anymore. Who kissed in the back of the movie theater in town and now Dee just waits for the movies to come out on DVD or netflix or some jerk spoils the whole plot on Tumblr.

He’s _over_ Virgil Storm as much as one person can be over him.

Which--Dee realizes too late, too quickly, not soon enough-- means that he’s not over Virgil Storm at all.

The Virgil of his memories had been the boy next door: the boy who’s window met right up with his, and had his spider curtains drawn nearly daily since the day he moved in, the boy who wore knee, elbow and hand pads with his helmet when he rode his bike, the boy who never needed anyone else in his life, but had so desperately wanted someone.

The Virgil of his memories had been small and flighty: there one minute and gone the next, like the sun on a cloudy day, like a ghost on a foggy night, like a whisper in an empty house. He doesn’t smile for days and even then its always insincere and angry and that type of personality had electrified Dee. He was afraid of everything and yet he never hesitated to throw himself in front of his friends and take the fall.

The Virgil of his memories tasted like artificial grape and smelled like the earth before a rainstorm. He laughed like the world was ending and Dee had wished, is wishing, wishes he could bottle that sound and sell it to make himself rich. He kissed like he he had actively been running out of time to live, and wanted to make every last second count.

(Who could have known?)

The Virgil of his memories leaves without a trace, without a goodbye, without warning on a cold September day.

Dee had gotten a letter in the mail a week after he found out. He cried about it, because he was fourteen and heartbreak was a sniper shot through his glass heart, because he was a child and that was his best friend, because he was so very alone and he had forgotten what that felt like.

But Virgil’s dad had loved his son.

And there wasn’t a thing more tragic than that.

(Dee had been at school when it happened, waiting by Virgil’s locker anxiously because his boyfriend had missed the bus and hadn’t replied to his text messages and _hadn’t he been quieter yesterday? Had Dee done something wrong?_ )

((He hadn’t. Virgil had written it down on hotel note paper, an apology, _an apology,_ **_an apology_ ** and mailed it with no return address.))

It felt like a sucker punch to the face when he had gotten back home that day and seen the FOR SALE sign on the front lawn. Up until then, the words “Witness Protection” and “relocation” had been fantasies on their favorite TV shows.

It hadn’t been a fantasy when Dee tackled the hired mover who had been carrying a box full of stuff from the house-- Virgil’s stuff-- and it hadn’t been a fantasy when they tear the posters and the secret stuffed animals from his fingers and it hadn’t been a fantasy when his mother had held him tightly while he sobbed on the front lawn for all the neighborhood to see. 

(Dee tries to eat a grape lollipop a month later and vomits in the school bathrooms garbage can which effectively ruins his lizard man Halloween costume. He doesn’t try anything grape again.)

He forgets what grape tastes like. That’s almost like healing, isn’t it? Letting the years pile on and smiling when his parents and his (old) friends tell him twelve months is long enough to stop feeling sad.

The Virgil of his memories is gone forever.

Dee had buried him and moved on.

(And Vampire was supposed to be an _aesthetic_ , not a life style choice, but apparently no one had told Virgil Storm that.)

New friends come, ones that don’t tell him to smile when he’s sad like Patton who shows up with chocolate and tissues and sad movies or the Prince Twins who moved to town long after Virgil had left and brazenly ask who they have to kill so that Dee doesn’t feel as sad anymore and Emile and Remy who take him out to places and give him new experiences.

And Logan.

Logan who was a sun, a yellowed star that burns at 10,000 degrees and warmed the rest of the world with his rare smiles. He was unmistakable, undismissable, unforgettable. And when Dee thought there was nothing worth living for, when the Virgil of his memories had left him in a fog that wasn’t his fault, when everyone told Dee it was time to stop feeling bad and move on, when school felt meaningless and tedious and worthless, Logan had appeared like a beacon to draw him home.

He was warm. He was straightforward. He talked with a purpose and never let anyone speak over him. He had that sort of gravitational pull that drew Dee to him, around him, with him. Before had Dee even known what was happening, Logan had smiled at him and Dee thought he’d do _anything_ to see that sight again.

They’re first date was to a spy museum, their second to an escape room, their third to an aquarium. Dee, who had never been sentimental before in his life, had kept the ticket stubs and the escaped certificate and the pictures and filled his walls with them. They went star gazing they argued over star constellation trivia and ate freeze-dried snacks because they wanted to then they curled up next to each other under a blanket and Dee thought he had never been so warm before in his life. They went grocery shopping at three in the morning and bought unholy amounts of soda to experiment which off-brand type made the best explosions. 

Logan tastes like cherry coke, like freeze-dried mint ice cream, like pop rocks. He feels like a brewing warmth of passion and a standard “home” that had replaced any building Dee could think of. He smells like a library recently rediscovered and full of knowledge to share. He sounds like a crackling fireplace, low and safe with a sudden unexpected and delightful pop of sarcasm and snark and all the possibility of becoming a wildfire.

Dee had Logan, has Logan, loves Logan.

So can someone please tell him why he’s kissing Virgil?

(He doesn't taste like grape lollipops or gatorade or popsicles anymore.)

So can someone please tell him why he's _still_ kissing Virgil?

(Logan is there. Logan is watching.)

So can someone tell him….

(Too late, too soon, not enough)

Can someone please…

(Should be over him)

When did Dee become a liar?

Virgil is soft, his skin is cold, and his fingers feel so familiar. They aren't in a treehouse and the sun isn't shining and they aren't stupid dumb kids.

Virgil’s lips are chapped. They're the warmest part of him.

They're not neighbors anymore, because three months after the Storms moved away, left, disappeared, an older couple had moved into the house with an older woman who never stopped shrieking at her husband whom did nothing but tend to the little garden out front of the house. Virgil lives across the city now, in an apartment with his mom and bikes to school with the best calves of anyone in school.

(Dee can feel those calves now. They are the best.)

And Logan--

_Fuck_.

Dee feels like he was blindsided, like he was steamrolled, like he should have jumped out of the way of the fucking tornado that was Virgil Storm but instead he stood his ground. Like an idiot who thought he could survive a natural disaster.

This is not the Virgil of his memories. 

This Virgil is a storm, a monsoon, a hurricane and the little life Dee built here is the fucking sailboat that wasn’t tuned into the radiostation.

But that’s Dee fault, isn't it? He was the one not paying attention. He was the one that asked Logan if they could play, because everyone knew that they were LoganandDee and the kisses were just meaningless nothings, because Dee was the one who chose to keep playing, because Dee was the one who lied and said he was over Virgil and now everyone knew.

Logan is there. Logan is not stupid. Logan is staring at the two of them silently, with an expression behind those glasses off his that reads like one of is books: sadness, disappointment, acceptance and maybe something else, maybe something more but Dee doesn’t have the time to figure it out.

(did he ever?)

He is a liar.

So he does what liars do when they’re found out.

He runs.

Hands suddenly shoving Virgil away harder than he meant, rougher than he meant. On his feet, those wobbly noodle legs threatening to give out. Out the door, because it had been all fun and games until Dee brought his emotions into it.

They aren’t kids, but Dee’s still stupid and dumb and now he’s a liar too.

His vomit tastes like artificial grape. His tears like cherry coke. The window in the bathroom is already open and the fresh air feels so painful Dee wants to choke.

The party’s not over, but he’s leaving.

Leaving Remy’s house full of light and laughter and warmth. Leaving all their friends half buzzed and not conscious of consequences. Leaving Logan standing at the bar counter unable to say a word.

Leaving Virgil all alone, surrounded by other people, and he's disappearing without a trace.

_(How does it feel, Virgil? To have someone do it back to you?)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. 
> 
> Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical.   
> ***  
> Aka Virgil is going through some things.

It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical. 

~~ He picked up a few things from Wit Protect: crippling anxiety, a willpower to hold grudges far longer than an average person, and a  _ healthy dose of masochism. _ ~~

Because he just  _ had  _ to ask didn’t he? Couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, couldn’t keep his tongue in his head and the words in his throat and the smile off his own stupid fucking face. There’s something wrong with him, that much is obvious. Because he asked and expected Logan to punch him, expected Dee to kick him, expected all their friends to jump between them and shout at Virgil to get out and go away and never to come back again.

And he still had asked. And waited for that pain that tore deep into his chest and ripped apart his fragile little unlovable heart.

He had asked.

Virgil Storm walks into a party, forgets, for a moment, how to count and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend.

1 + 1 = 2

Logan + Dee = a happy couple

And Virgil had no right to be coming in and ruining that.

(Like he ruined everything else too: ruined Mom and Dad’s marriage as a happy little accident, ruined Dee’s life by just up and leaving without an explanation, ruined the first and second safe locations because he couldn’t remember a stupid name, ruined, ruined, ruined.)

Virgil had come back to town a week before school started. He had been sick the entire week, feeling feverish every time he stepped out of the house. The park had been updated, so the swings that he and Dee had played on as kids were replaced with new ones that didn’t screech when someone used them. The bakery his mom and him used to visit before school was now a coffee shop and the pastries weren’t as good. The old man who ran the grocer in town had a stroke and so his nephew ran the place now.

The Watertower was a new color. The library had a new statue outfront. The paint studio was boarded up.

Their treehouse was decrypted.

Virgil had walked alone with his hood up and he had been terrified of running into someone who remembered him. 

He felt like a kid again: keeping his curtains drawn because that meant that no one would come peeking at him to see what he was. Keeping his curtains drawn because he didn’t need any friends. 

Keeping his curtains drawn and wishing someone would come anyway.

Last time it had been Dee.

(Dee’s house is different too. Looks like his mother gave up on that vegetable garden.)

Dee who should hate him, Dee who would hate him, Dee who had a perfectly good and fine life without Virgil in it again.

Which Virgil  _ knew,  _ because he had a heart attack when he heard that laughter outside the library, that unforgettable laughter that preened and danced in the air like some kind of fairy to enchant all that heard it. Because he’s heart had stopped when he saw Dee standing there, amidst a group of people, of friends that Virgil didn’t recognize, smiling so very brightly, arms linked together with the others to prove that he belonged with them. Because his heart shattered when he watched Dee lean over and kiss another boy right on the lips.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could hate Logan Ackroyd.

But the guy is just...fucking perfect. Its a different kind of perfect than Dee is. Dee is a magician who could make the sadness disappear, who could pull reasons to keep fighting out of his sleeves, who could turn a sniveling pathetic little kid into a lovesick teenager who thought he knew what the hell “forever” meant.

Logan’s not like that. He’s cold hard facts, with no time for those who don’t want to listen. He’s a preacher and Virgil didn’t realize he wanted to be at the front of the audience until its too late. He’s the teacher that makes him write an essay in class and then gives him a fucking gold star because he managed not to fuck it up too bad and somehow Virgil still thinks about it late at night, guiltily enjoying the pleased feeling in his chest.

Virgil wants to hate him, because Logan was everything he wanted to be: smart, collected, happy,  _ with Dee. _

He shouldn’t have come back. When Agent DW placed the folders in front of him after his dad’s trail was completed and all the guys trying to kill them had been jailed, and when she had asked him if he wanted to stay in Bumfuck, Wherever with the name Andy, or go back home as Virgil…

Virgil Storm walks into a party and thinks that if he’s ever called Andy again he’ll commit murder and join his father in jail.

Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it awful?

Logan and Dee should hate him. He breaks everything he touches.

_ Why  _ had he asked to kiss Dee?

Because he knows he doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t deserve a place there. He doesn’t  _ want  _ a place there.

He doesn’t want-- not like this.

Not where Logan has look from the sidelines, or Dee has to watch Virgil take this good, happy thing him and Logan have and crush it. He doesn’t want something like this, if it means one of them ends up in tears. 

1 + 1 = 2

That’s what his teachers told him. 

Virgil already left once. Virgil already took himself out of a relationship once, removed himself from the problem, erased his own existence from the variables. 

Its a word problem and Virgil knows this one well: Logan is the oranges and Dee is the apples and Virgil can pick one, or the other, or none. And even though he’s a Starving African Orphan he knows picking one is going to leave the other to rot away and he won’t-- doesn’t--  _ fucking can’t-- _

Maybe it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss? Its a reach, Virgil knows because he’s never been good at goodbyes and he fucked up the only ones he got: a paper note really? A roll of his eyes as his dad was carted away? A two fingered salute to Toby who had still be reeling from the idea that Andy was a work of fiction that he had been hanging out with for seven years?

Dee had deserved a goodbye.

Virgil had put his tongue in his mouth instead. 

He’s a masochist (who liked ripping his own heart out again and again and again).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and now he’s still sitting there as reality comes  _ careening  _ back on him, a tsunami to drown him, a bag to suffocate him, a guillotine to decapitate him. 

Because Virgil hadn’t thought about consequences and Dee had pushed him away before fleeing the scene and Logan had to sit there and  _ watch _ . And the world feels like its too small, and the air feels like its too thin and Virgil feels like he just threw himself through a glass window into a freefall waiting for the ground to smash the rest of him to bits.

Dee ran off.

And Virgil is staring at Logan.

Roman is punch drunk out of his mind, laughing as he stares at the billions of pictures he just took. Remus is slung right over Patton wheezing with his joy. Patton has tears streaming down his face and pink cheeks and happiness glowing off him. Emile is trying to spin that stupid bottle and Remy is fighting over it with him.

And not one of them seem to be aware of  _ what  _ just happened. Virgil’s not sure a single one of them could tell him where they are, what their names are, who he just kissed.

But Dee ran off.

And Logan is staring at Virgil.

“I--”

He means this. He means this more than anything. Why can’t he say it?  _ Apologize, damnit _ .

“Go,” he whispers, not even sure that he can be heard over Remy’s stupid music.

Because Dee ran off and Virgil is here and Virgil isn’t going to make Logan choose like this. In a decision between his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s colossal fuck up of an ex, there isn’t even a choice to be made.

Shouldn’t be a choice to be made.

Logan is blinking at him. 

Logan is walking towards him.

Logan is grabbing his hand.

“Come on,” Logan says.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and he’s still trying to figure out how to do math.

Because 1 +1 = 2 and Virgil learned that when he was six fucking years old when Dee had knocked on his door and demanded at Virgil come out and play with him, and then again when he was ten when he was so scared of graduating elementary school and Dee held his hand the whole time, then again when they were twelve and Virgil slammed their lips together while they were in the back of that Movie Theater before he could chicken out. 

Dee + Logan + Virgil does not equal 2. 

Virgil knows this. He knows that Logan knows this, because he and Logan share their Calculus class and have cursed out their homework together many times. If Logan can do three digit multiplication while drunk, he should be able to see that 3 is more than 2 and one of them needs to go.

Its pick and choose and and and

And Logan’s hand is tight around his, warm like an open flame, and strong like someone who knows what he is doing. Because it is Logan Ackroyd and Virgil’s only known him for a handful of months but he’s the most put together person he’s ever met, the person that never lost sight of what he wanted before, the person who always had a solution.

The person who had invited Virgil to sit with them at lunch and then refused to let it be awkward when everyone else had whispered _ was that a smart idea, Logan, don’t you know who this is? Don’t you know what he did? Don’t you know what he is to Dee? _

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could tell anyone why he kissed his ex.

But he  _ doesn't _ know why. The bottle had landed on him and Dee had just looked so smug about getting Logan out of the game and  _ someone _ had to take him down a notch, didn't they? Someone had to defend Logan's honor?

But wait thats not right, because this was a game and it was fun until Virgil forgot that he left Dee without a warning and then showed back up just to threaten this relationship that he and Logan have. He doesn't have a right to kiss anyone, not Dee, not Logan.

He tries to dig his heels into the carpet, tries to wretch his hand from Logan's, tries to stop the world from spinning so much.

He thinks that maybe the universe is laughing at him. What a ridiculous notion, thinking that Virgil can stop ruination before it comes.

Logan drags him down the halls of Remy's house right after Dee, and finds the bathroom empty with the lights on and the door open and the toilet filled with vomit.

And the window open.

And,  _ oh.  _

_ Dee jumped out a window to get away from Virgil, didn’t he? _

"Come on," Logan says.

Virgil stumbles after him: back out the bathroom, back down the hall, right past the party and straight for the front door.

"Be Safe!" Patton yells after them (followed by a delighted shriek when Remus presses a multitude of cursory kisses into his neck).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and Logan Ackroyd drags him right out of it.

It seems so stupid, doesn’t it? Logan taking Virgil with him, holding his hand, being a steady center of calm while Virgil just wants to cover his ears hunch his shoulders and scream until the memories of Dee are gone and he stops….fucking… trying to… fucking ruin… This. Them. Here. Now.  _ Whatever. _

The city is so big now, bigger than when they were kids: Virgil doesn’t know where Dee would have gone in a disgusted panic, in a horrified frenzy, in  _ whatever  _ it was that Virgil had made him feel. At one point it might have been their fucking treehouse, the movie theater backlot, the icecream aisle of the grocer staring at the stupid fucking popsicles. But Virgil doesn’t know Dee anymore, doesn’t know this town, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Dee could have gone anywhere to get away from him.

Except that he’s just on the ground next to Remy’s mailbox, one hand clutching the grass, the other a fistfull of hair and shaking like all of his bones were trying to leave his skin at once. 

Its cold, Virgil realizes a second later. Its cold because its December and they’re outside wearing jeans and T-shirts and not a single coat between the three of them and its night so of course its fucking cold--

Logan plops onto the ground next to Dee, narrowly missing the mailbox and Virgil tumbles down after him.

There are over seven billion people in the world, Virgil knows this, but somehow all he can do is count the ones in front of him. 

1, 2, 3. 

Dee, Logan, Virgil.

It doesn’t equal 2. Can’t equal 2. 

And Virgil still loves the feeling of pain, loves tearing his heart apart, loves watching Logan be soft and Dee be happy because he’s not and won’t ever be necessary for them--

  
  


“I--” Virgil says just as Logan cups Dee’s face with one hand. The other is still weaved between Virgil’s fingers like some sort of knot project. Virgil tries to let go--  _ he does _ \-- but Logan just tightens and squeezes and  _ does not let him let go. _

Dee is shaking and crying and Virgil thinks that anyone who ever said that someone is beautiful when they cry is a fucking idiot. There was nothing pretty about see him in the moonlight leaking tears like a garden hose and covered in snot and curling on himself like his own arms are the only things stopping him from shattering apart on the lawn right now. There’s nothing gorgeous about the way his eyes are puffing up and his make up is smearing and his breaths are short and fleeting and fully of incoherent apologies. 

There’s nothing heart warming about seeing him sobbing. 

“Breathe with me,” Logan commands. “Dee, Inhale with me. One… Two… Three--”

Dee shudders. And tries and tries and tries but every breath is choked and wet and rattling.

And Virgil.

Virgil has no right to be doing this, but he flings his chest against Dee’s back and presses against him because pressure had always been one of the things that Dee liked when he was not-okay. How could Virgil forget, when so many of their days in that treehouse included him and Dee lying on one another musing with each other’s hair or scrolling on their phones or soaking in the silence?

Dee’s breath shudders, stops, and then he inhales. Logan counts steady as a metronome, steady as a time passing, steady as the Earth turning.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2 

Dee stops sobbing and his shaking decreases and his hand loosens on his hair just enough for Logan to reach up and untangle his fingers. 

“You’re doing good,” Virgil whispers in Dee’s ear, because that’s what he needs to hear isn’t it? That’s what Virgil wished someone would say every time he crammed himself in his closet and willed his lungs to just fucking work when his Mother didn’t know or care or understand what was going on.

Logan counts. Virgil whispers. Dee breathes.

1, 2, 3

Logan’s hands are holding them both. Dee is leaning back against Virgil like he’s the shield between Dee and insanity and Virgil isn’t sure why he’s still there and can’t remember how to leave.

“I think…” Logan starts which is almost comical because when doesn’t he think? “I think we need to talk.”

“Talk,” Dee repeats, hoarsely. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says.

They don’t say anything.

Virgil knows what he needs to do. He knows that he needs to pull back, needs to untangle himself from Logan and stop draping himself over Logan’s boyfriend and go back into the house to get his coat and shoes and maybe a blanket for the other two before he starts that trek back to his apartment. He knows that he needs to  _ go  _ because he  _ doesn’t belong  _ and he needs to call Agent DW and get her to find him another place to live again because-- surprise-- he ruined this one too.

Virgil tries to shift back, but Dee follows him.

“Don’t--” Dee croaks.

Virgil stops moving. Because Dee sounds so fragile, because he never sounds fragile, because its was  _ Dee. _

“Please…” Dee whispers, “Please don’t.”

And, well, Virgil is a masochist who hates himself. What other option does he have than to stay and await for the speech of telling off that Logan is preparing?

Virgil’s seen Logan tear into people, he’s seen Logan put people straight, he’s seen Logan stand on tables and slaughter the morons who dared go against him. He and Dee had that in common: their words were weapons and they knew how to use them.

“I--” Virgil says, “I’m--”

Sorry? Not Sorry? Sad? A fuck up?

“Did you mean it?” Logan asks.

And Virgil’s chin is on Dee’s shoulder and the cold breeze blows straight through him.

“Virgil,” Logan says patiently impatient, “Did you mean it when you kissed Dee?”

Virgil knows what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say. What he needs to say. 

_ “It was a goodbye kiss.” “It was an apology.” “It was part of the game.” “It wasn’t meant as anything.” “No, I didn’t.” _

“You fucking liar.” Dee growls at him, miserably. (Aren’t they all miserable right now?)

And really what did he expect? Dee knew him better than he knew himself.

“Virgil.” Logan says.

“God, Fucking Shut Up!” Virgil snarls, “Both of you! Shut Up! Stop Asking Me if I Liked Kissing My Ex!”

“Did you?”

“SHUT UP!”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Fuck Your Answer!” Virgil throws back, and maybe its the hysteria talking because his voice is louder than he meant, louder than it should be with the three of them so close they are touching to keep warm. How can Virgil cover his ears and block out the sound of Logan’s accusing voice without pulling away from Dee or letting go of Logan’s hand?

“Why Does Anyone Need an Answer?” Virgil snarls, “What Does it Matter At All? You’ve Got--” He chokes because of course he does. And isn’t that an answer all by itself? “You’ve Got--”

Seven years ago, Virgil had entered Witness Protection with his mother when his father agreed to testify against the “shady organization that promised him big money to help put Virgil through college”. Seven years ago, Agent DW showed up on his doorstep ten minutes before he was set to meet Dee at the bus stop and took his phone from him. Seven whole fucking years ago, Virgil Storm was ripped out of time.

And things are different now: Dee is different, the town is different,  _ life  _ is different.

And Virgil feels like he’s playing the longest game of Catch-Up since Captain America himself. How can he belong when everyone around him is years and miles beyond what he remembers?

“You’ve got each other,” Virgil says, finally, miserably.

Dee can’t turn to look at him, but Virgil can feel the way he’s tensing and closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see the way that Logan is staring at him.

1 + 1 = 2

“What’s wrong with three?”

Three? Its a prime number, its an odd number, its one more than 2? And bad things come in threes don't they? A man, a woman, and the son they didn't want; a treehouse, grape popsicles, and a movie theater that sells overpriced candy; a party, a bottle, and a kiss that's still tingling on Virgil's lips.

So Virg startles a laugh. What else can he do?

(Leave, let go and leave and never come back.)

He blinks back a sting behind his eyes, one he's familiar with--  _ dontcrydontcrydontcry _ \-- and suddenly right in front of him is Logan.

Logan, whos eyes swim with galaxies in them, who's pale skin drinks in the moonlight and glows like a lighthouse to bring him home, who's voice is a tremor in the night, a general with the power to raze countries. Logan, who's so close Virgil can see through the fog of their breaths and feel his warm exhales on his nose and cheeks.

Virgil breath catches in his throat. He can see each individual eyelash on Logan's face. Surely that must be because Virgil is still clinging to his boyfriend--

"I want to run an experiment," Logan's lips move smoothly, softly, barely more than necessary and Virgil can see his tongue flicking around the alphabet soup of syllables.

Logan leans closer. Virgil stays still, transfixed on those lips, and pressed against Dee's shoulder. This is a mistake, isn't it? Maybe Logan hit his head on the Mailbox and now he thinks Virgil is Dee and he doesn't really mean this at all and they need to take him to the hospital before he dies of bloodlo--

Logan's nose is touching his. "May I?"

And whatever sound Virgil makes is pitiful, and pathetic, and embarrassing, and a "yes, please."

Logan kisses him, is kissing, kissed him. Virgil finds a new meaning in the term "seeing stars" because right then his eyes are dazzled with sparkling diamonds and bursts of colors. It  _ does _ something to him, makes his heart race and leap into his throat, makes him lurch forward because its  _ not enough _ ,  _ he's not close enough. _ Logans fingers twists around him and Virgil thinks that he should be freezing but his palm is clammy. And his other arm snakes around Dees waist before he can even think about what he's doing (does he ever think?).

Logan kissing him, and Dee leaning into his touch and Virgil thinks he died and somehow ended up in heaven.

This--

_ Oh _ .

This is 3.

One more than 2.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and somehow ends up kissing his ex’s new boyfriend, too.

Logan's pulls away slowly, like a hesitance, like a regret. Virgil thinks he licks his lips, breathing so warmly, looking so flushed-- flushed? Logan's flushed and shy and soft in a way that Virgils never blessed enough to see before. 

He coughs, weakly, fakely, and Virgil distantly thinks thats his attempt to regain some form of control. "Well. I believe my hypothesis was correct."

"Nerd," Virgil croaks. "God fucking ner--"

Dee's lips are on his by some magic-like contortion because Dee's back is still pressed into Virgil's chest squeezing all the air from his lungs and last time Virgil checked humans weren't supposed to be able to  _ do _ that. 

"Do shut up," Dee whispers into Virgil's mouth.

Virgil thinks that if he died this isn’t such a bad way to spend his whatever’s-next.

(Dee’s learned new things, Virgil realizes, because he kisses differently now than he had back when they were twelve and so fucking stupid.)

Dee’s mouth moves off Virgil’s lips, dashing across his cheeks and peppering him with featherlight kisses. If Virgil wasn’t so absolutely out of it he might have been annoyed because that was Dee, kissing his fucking freckles and Virgil had worked to hard to cover them with concealer--

Then Dee turns around and drags Logan by his fucking tie into a kiss of their own with Virgil in a front row seat. Virgil’s always enjoyed theater but this is something more: being this close, feelings both of them just inches away-- thats a show he thinks he wants to come back to again and again and again and--

Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that  _ insane?  _

A week ago, a day ago, twenty minutes ago, this sight would have Virgil’s heart shattering right down the middle and stomping on the pieces and crying because even though it hurt like fucking hell this is what he wanted for them: he wanted Dee and Logan to be happy and safe and, and, and yeah he wanted them to be together too. 

But right here, right now? He’s a part of this, and his heart does this stupid- fucking- jump thing when he watches them and his jaw hurts because he’s  _ smiling so damn wide. _

God, when was the last time he smiled like this?

He’s feeling some stupid emotion and its so  _ nice  _ and  _ warm  _ and  _ safe _ that he doesn’t think he can even describe it with actual words (he’s always been a math person anyway). How does anyone describe this feather-fragile feeling, this cocktail of emotions, this atomic bomb of Need that causes him to hold on to all of this when he knows every other person he knows would tell him to let go?

This is something breakable. 

And Virgil doesn’t know if it will be him that breaks or if it will be this… thing that he thinks came out of nowhere.

But he’s a masochist and he wants to find out.

“So,” Logan says between gasps for air, “Three?”

Dee laughs and blows a column of white condensation into the air. “Three, definitely.”

1 + 1 + 1 =/= 2

Virgil always though that math was overrated anyway.

“Three,” Virgil says and it tastes like grape popsicles. Isn’t that weird? Virgil hasn’t had grape popsicles since that summer seven years ago. He misses that taste.

He sends a squeeze to Logan’s hand and Logan squeezes back. He hums into Dee’s neck and Dee laughs like he’s going to cry. Its the three of them together and who would have thought this day would come?

“Uh…” A fourth voice speaks up and Virgil squints up into the yellowed flashlight that’s rolling over the three of them. Its a guy-- must be one of the neighbors, though who knows why he’s out so late at night. “You three okay? I heard some yelling earlier....”

Virgil laughs at him, at them, at the universe. Dee’s shaking, too, something wonderful to learn and feel next to his heart.

“Should I take that as a no?” The man asks.

“Uh, no, Mr. Sanders,” Logan says but he’s grinning like he just achieved immortality. “I mean, yes! But not like--”

“I kissed two boys,” Virgil says, “And I really like them both.”

“Moron,” Dee laughs again.

The man, Concerned Neighbor, Mr. Sanders, looks somewhere between amused and confused. He shifts his weight, glancing beyond them, towards the house. (And Virgil doesn’t need to turn to know that fucking Remy is watching them from the windows.)

"Well you three should get back inside," the Concerned Neighbor says and Virgil gets the feeling he should be embarrassed, but honestly? Who gives a fuck? "Its cold out here."

Right. 

Because its the end of December and its nearly ten oclock and jackets were quite literally the last thing on any of their minds.

Oh god  _ what if they got pneumonia from this? _

“Unlikely,” Logan says, straightening his tie. “Most likely one of us will contract a common head cold and then transmit it to the other two through an abundance of close proximity to each other.”

“Yes and that sounds  _ completely  _ awful,” Dee says wriggling around as he tries to get up. Virgil lets him go briefly, but snags the back of Dee’s neck before he can go too far. Dee squeaks in a way that is adorable.

“STORM! You fucker! Your hands are fucking ice cubes!” Dee bucks away and punches him in the shoulder before sprinting toward the door with a sharp little smile on his face. 

And Virgil runs after him, pulling Logan along because he doesn’t want to let go at all. Its ridiculous. Its silly and hilarious and laughable and, and, and.

And they catch up to Dee right on the door step, bathed in the multicolored lights of the party where Logan gets a chance to snag Dee in a hug and Virgil--

Virgil Storm walks into a party and gets to tell everyone how he kissed both his boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, guys! Let me know what you thought, if you liked it, if you hated it, if you want more! 
> 
> I have some various concepts floating around that i might write....we'll see :D


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